Gas Mask Required
by twenty-til-12
Summary: When Ziva and McGee witness a murder first-hand, they and their team must work against the clock to prevent a bioterrorist attack that may claim the life of one of their own.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**:

It's been a while. And that there is the understatement of the century. Before I get much further, I want to profusely apologize to anyone who was waiting for an update on my LOTR story. I never rolled around to completing it. I also want to apologize for anyone who I reviewed for on a regular basis, I know it seemed like I just dropped off the planet.

Needless to say, after over four years, I'm back on . I've been reading stuff from here in those years, but I haven't written any solid fanfiction until I decided to challenge myself with a big bang on LJ. This story is comlete, I just need to work through the complicated process of uploading the chapters. However, it is posted all in one place on LJ, you'll find the link below. Also art is provided by the lovely chatona (which you can also find the link for below).

And, as much as I would love reviews, I understand not having the time to drop a line. :3

**Title**: Gas Mask Required

**Author**: Dha (twentytil12)

**Pairing**: None, but there certainly is subtext for any pairing

**Rating**: T (mainly for the nightmare in the last chapter and a little bit of language)

**Word Coun**t: 20,277

**Spoilers**: Set mid-Season 5, so anything pre-Internal Affairs

**Warnings**: Mainly just for the nightmare: Gore, disembowelment, etc.

**Summary**: When Ziva and McGee witness a murder first-hand, they and their team must work against the clock to prevent a bioterrorist attack that may claim the life of one of their own.

**Notes**: There's a little cameo by the SRU from Flashpoint (another CBS series), but you don't need to know who they are. Also, I am not a scientist but I have worked hard to make the "science" in the fic as factual and realistic as possible. And finally, I try to mimic the choppy style of the show and yes I decided just to post it in two giant posts because I was too lazy to separate it further Chapter 5 is split into two pieces.

Link to Fic: Part 1: " twenty-til-12. livejournal. com/ 3791. html#cutid1

Part 2: twenty-til-12. livejournal. com/ 4032.html#cutid1

Link to Art: community. / shorikurai/ 24222.html

**Act One:**

McGee was grateful when the time for his lunch break finally rolled around. The day had been slower than usual, with the team working only cold cases, and the constant annoyance of paper balls from Tony had steadily grown to a full-out war, which Ziva was winning, despite her initial protests to getting involved. The officer snuck around with guerilla tactics that the geek had only seen a few times prior during cases, but he could easily see her expertise in the area. He wished for something, almost anything to break up the monotony of the day. Holding up his hands, McGee attempted to negotiate a cease-fire, for the sake of their stomachs.

"Is anyone else getting hungry?" he proposed, standing up from behind his desk, hands still held up.

A paper ball from Tony hit McGee square on the temple.

"At the buzzer and DiNozzo makes it!" the older agent cheered himself on, fist pumping in triumph.

"DiNozzo," came the familiar warning as Gibbs turned the corner and strode into the bullpen, coffee in hand. "Is there a reason why you aren't working?"

"No leads on the cold cases, boss, but I'll keep looking," Tony said quickly before pulling to his desk one of the large brown filing boxes that littered the bullpen.

Gibbs glanced over to McGee, who was talking to someone on the phone rather quickly, before turning to Ziva, who filled out paperwork while checking some of the other papers that covered her desk. Smirking a little at the effect he had on his people, the older agent strode over to his desk to begin work on his computer.

"Take an hour for lunch McGee," he said, stealing his eyes away from the computer for a few moments to direct the order to the younger agent.

"Boss?" the computer expert asked before Gibbs gave him The Look. "Right, taking an hour for lunch."

"Ziva!" Gibbs called over the space between their two desks.

"Yes, Gibbs?" she asked, wondering what Tony had potentially drug her into.

"Go with McGee."

Ziva got up from her seat, grabbing her bag and her gun as she went and joined McGee on the way to the elevator, smirking at Tony as she passed him. Tony looked up from his desk, wondering when he would get his own personal invitation to go get lunch.

"You're with Duck, DiNozzo. He needs some help with moving the new equipment around, check with him for details, " Gibbs continued before turning back to his computer. "You can get lunch later."

"But Boss--" Tony attempted, glancing from the pair stepping into the elevator and his boss.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs had the impressive ability to tame even the most wayward of agents with a single word.

"Going to help Ducky, right. On it boss."

Tony quickly hurried to the elevator, whose doors were quickly closing. Sticking a hand between the two metal plates in a way he had seen Ziva do, Tony halted the doors and as they slid back open, he clambered onto the elevator, ignoring the grins on the other agents' faces. Ziva, especially, took a certain joy in knowing that Tony would be performing some menial legwork when he constantly bragged about being the senior agent.

"C'mon Tony," McGee said, still grinning in spite of Tony's dark glare. "Helping Ducky won't be _that _bad."

"Yes, he is always full of such invaluable knowledge," Ziva added, adjusting the strap of the backpack slung over one of her shoulders. "You never know what you might learn."

Tony turned to reply but the doors opened behind him and he heard Ducky call, "Is that you Anthony?"

"Have fun," McGee said, picking at Tony as the older agent left the elevator and trudged into autopsy.

Ziva barely restrained a snort of laughter as the elevator doors closed again and the car moved down towards the parking lot. It was incredibly fun to poke at Tony, especially since he dished out as much as he took; there were few days when the Italian did not say something borderline inappropriate. Some days it was all she could do to not smack Tony upside the head in a fashion not too different from Gibbs. However, the boss bore the uncanny ability to know when Tony said something head-smack worthy and normally handled the comment in a manner most appropriate.

"So where to for lunch?" McGee asked when the doors opened, revealing the bright sun on a very hot day in D.C. "As long as it's air-conditioned, I don't care."

"Tony told me about a restaurant on K Street," Ziva replied as the two walked through the lobby of the building, their shoes clacking a little against the faux-marble floors. "Between 1st and 2nd streets, I believe. Called the Kneel…?"

"Yeah, I know the place," McGee continued as he flashed his badge to the security officer at the checkpoint. "It's The _Keel_, which is another name for a boat. A real popular place for those who work here at the Navy Yard or across the river at Anacostia Naval Station."

"Is it any good? Most of the places Tony recommends are fast food."

"No, The Keel actually has some pretty good food. I've been there once or twice. Mainly serve the typical American foods like hamburgers, chicken fingers; we can probably bring something back for Tony."

"And miss him whining like a little snitch?"

"Uh, Ziva, the term is--"

"I know the term, McGee. I am trying to be nice."

.:NCIS:.

Ziva and McGee sat at a table in The Keel, a nautical-themed restaurant that had little to boast about. Despite the typical upscale look of many D.C. restaurants, the small pub looked more like it had suffered some blows from a decrease in business. The wallpaper peeled slightly and the tables wobbled a little when leaned on, but overall bore a much homier feel than many of the other venues in the area. All over the walls were pictures of people with boats, taken by patrons who regularly ate at the small restaurant. Some of the photographs were faded and yellowing from time, but some were new and McGee could swear he saw one of Gibbs and an unfinished boat in a basement.

Despite the hour, the traffic in and out of The Keel was light. Ziva and McGee were two of only a handful of people in the restaurant. One civilian worked on a laptop with a fervor that intrigued McGee while a couple uniformed officers sat at another table, talking good-naturedly about the new uniforms the Navy was issuing that year. One of the servers addressed a dark-haired officer among the bunch before placing one of the restaurant's brass mugs on the table.

"Have you worked anymore on your book?" Ziva asked as she tore off a piece of her chicken finger and put it in her mouth.

"I was supposed to, " McGee admitted, munching a little on one of his fries. "My editor's deadline was a few days ago but I can't get anything out."

"We are not inspiration enough to you?" the Mossad officer commented, more in an attempt at humor than an accusation.

"It's not that Ziva," McGee defended, feeling a little insecure about the insinuations of her comment. "The muse is a tricky thing to deal with."

"And who is your 'muse,' McGee?" Ziva tore another chunk off of her chicken finger.

"It's more of a what than a who," the geek continued, his face turning a little red as he remembered Tony's reaction to his pipe.

"Your pipe?" Ziva recalled an incident when her co-worker had accidentally brought the item from home, much to the delight of Tony, who made fun of it to no end.

McGee did not reply and instead turned his attention to the table of petty officers. The dark-haired officer he had seen drinking from one of the brass mugs was rubbing his chest a little. Another of the petty officers, female and redheaded, glanced at her colleague with concern but continued to engage her fellow officers in the conversation. Ziva, however, interrupted the geek's gaze.

"Do not let what Tony says bother you," the Mossad officer accosted, finishing the chicken finger and leaning across the table a little to steal a fry from the agent. "He does it to cover his own ass, which is not that good-looking in the first place."

"Trust me Ziva," he replied, pulling his food away from the woman, although he got a feeling that it would not matter how far it was from her. "What Tony says doesn't bug me."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Ziva retorted, smiling as she still managed to steal another fry. "What is it that Tony calls you? Probie?"

However, their conversation was interrupted by the loud coughing of the dark-haired petty officer, whose companions were doing a mix of patting him on the back and asking him what was wrong. As the man began to lose the ability to breathe, the coughing cease and the petty officers became more fervent in their attempts to figure out what was going on with their colleague. Ziva glanced to McGee before the latter pulled out his cell phone as the Mossad agent got to her feet and hurried over to the table where the petty officers were sitting.

"We have a petty officer who is experiencing difficulty breathing, and--" McGee began before the mentioned petty officer fell out of his chair and began to seize. "He is seizing. We need an ambulance right away to The Keel at K and 1st street."

"He's not breathing!" the redheaded woman shouted from where she knelt on the floor near her convulsing colleague.

"Stop shouting," Ziva ordered, trying to take control of the situation. "Move the tables, we need to give him some room. Does he have epilepsy?"

McGee continued to talk to the emergency dispatcher as he took quick glances between the other patrons of the small restaurant and the troupe of naval officers who were now clearing some of the tables from the vicinity of their convulsing friend. Ziva was moving the incapacitated petty officer into the recovery position, gently turning him on his side and trying to keep his head from hitting the floor with his spasms. The dark-haired petty officer vomited and the Mossad officer turned away as the substance splattered onto her clothing.

"Victim just vomited, and we think he might not be breathing," McGee added as he heard the dispatcher calling to another to 'hurry the hell up and get an ambulance over to The Keel.'

"Sir, I need you to stay on the line for me," the dispatcher replied calmly when she returned to the conversation."

"McGee, he's not breathing," Ziva said as loud as she dared.

"My partner has just confirmed the victim is not breathing."

"Do not administer mouth-to-mouth," another voice came on the line and McGee assumed it was a paramedic who joined the conversation from a headset on the ambulance. "I repeat. Do not administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation."

"Ziva," McGee called over to the Israeli, who was trying to move into a position where she could help but not be vomited on. "Paramedic says to not administer mouth-to mouth."

The convulsions started to cease and Ziva reached to the man's neck to feel for a pulse. When she found no beat under her fingers, she turned the unconscious man to his back and tilted his head back a little before moving her hands to his breastbone.

"McGee, beginning CPR," the Mossad agent said as she initiated chest compressions.

"My partner is beginning CPR," McGee relayed to the dispatcher and the paramedic.

"Alright, but do not administer the rescue breathing," the paramedic ordered before explaining. "We believe that he may be another among a series of deaths resulting from a mystery illness we've been encountering. Our ETA is two minutes."

"ETA is two minutes. And he may have been exposed to some mystery illness, they think."

"Great," the Israeli muttered as she finished her first round of thirty compressions before touching her fingers to the side of the man's neck again. "Still no pulse. Beginning second round of compressions."

When the ambulance finally arrived, the besieged man was too far-gone and was pronounced dead on arrival. McGee's stomach dropped out of him as he realized that his wish had been granted. Ziva , despite being decently covered in vomit, established a perimeter before making the call to her boss.

"Gibbs, we have a case."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** See chapter one.

**Act Two:**

"This reminds me of once when Anthony wore that jumpsuit. He looked quite stunning, I assure you, but it was much too short for him, if I recall. His clothes had been soaked when he saved a crime scene from Mother Nature."

Ziva tried to smile as she pulled at the dark blue medical examiner's jumpsuit, her dark and wet hair pulled back into a loose braid. The ill-fitting material was uncomfortable to say the least and the Mossad officer wondered how Ducky and Palmer could wear the jumpsuits regularly. However, she had to agree that the jumpsuit was better than wearing vomit all day. The image of the much taller Tony in a jumpsuit this small, though, made the Mossad officer grin.

When Gibbs and Tony had arrived in the sedan, the older had immediately ordered Ziva out of her clothing, much to the Italian's amusement. However, to Tony's dismay, the Israeli showered in a chemical shower in the back of the restaurant and changed into the jumpsuit she currently wore once Ducky and Palmer arrived. Her clothing was then quickly bagged and tagged as evidence. Obviously this had not been the first time that vomit had been taken as evidence: Tony told her the story of his first case with Kate in which Gibbs had made the Secret Service agent throw up in an evidence bag before cleaning herself up.

"I do believe that Anthony has learned his lesson to try to stand between what Mother Nature wants and what we want," Ducky interrupted her musings as he knelt on the ground next to the dead petty officer. "But I think that if Gibbs were to ask him to do it again, Anthony would."

"If the victim was a beautiful woman," Ziva replied with a smirk as she took her final photographs of the body, her concentration refocused on the task at hand.

"So many would think," the coroner countered as he glanced to her for confirmation that she was finished with her photographs. "Anthony certainly is deeper than some like to admit."

Ziva was put a little off balance by the older man's rebuttal. Sure, some days she could easily admit that there was more to Tony than what met the eye, but on the same token, there were days when the Italian acted more like an older brother trying to get one up over her. As she looked over to where Tony was questioning one of the witnesses with Gibbs, Ziva could not help but notice the pointed look the boss gave his senior agent.

"Shutting up now boss," Tony defended as Gibbs nearly outright glared at him before turning back to the redheaded petty officer. "Now, Miss Lane, did Petty Officer Kent show any signs of a serious illness?"

"No sir," the woman replied curtly, her expression somber and closed off. "He was as healthy as the rest of us."

"Have you been in foreign combat where new bio agents may be present?" Tony continued in the line of questioning that was required of him when even any sort of hint of bioterrorism had occurred; if he could have his way, he would have asked more meaningful questions like, 'Have you seen The New Adventures of Lois and Clark?'

"We've been stateside for about a year now," Petty Officer Lane continued, looking more like she wanted to run for cover than talk more about her colleague. "Sir, are you meaning to insinuate something?"

"We're just covering all our bases, ma'am," Tony assured the redhead, scribbling onto the notepad as Gibbs took over in questioning.

"What was your relationship with Petty Officer Kent?" he asked, shifting his weight to get a better look at the woman and discreetly observe her body language as she spoke.

"Clark and I were co-workers and friends," she explained, looking to the older agent who was watching her. "We went for a few drinks every now and then but we weren't particularly close. I know he had plenty of other friends than those just in our company."

"Do you know anyone who would want to kill him?" Gibbs proposed and earning the usual reaction.

"No sir. Clark was a good guy. I can't think of anyone who even dislikes Clark, much less would want to kill him."

Tony nodded in acknowledgement and left with the usual, "If you need us or remember anything else, just give us a call."

As he and Gibbs turned away from the redhead, the younger agent smirked.

"Is it just me or is everyone a good person who could never have a reason to be killed?"

Gibbs half-smiled before smacking his senior agent on the back of the head, relaying just exactly what he thought. Tony grunted lightly with the gesture but still managed to grin when he noticed McGee looking a little uneasy as he photographed the food on the table near the dead petty officer. The younger agent had seemed a little peaked and Tony could not entirely blame him. The Italian was more surprised that Ziva kept her composure, despite being puked on by a dying man.

"Hey McGoo," Tony teased, grabbing some evidence bags and moving to start bagging the food on the table. "Looks delicious. I bet that was a bacon cheeseburger before it came back up."

As the senior agent motioned to the vomit on the floor, McGee paled even further.

"Not funny, Tony," the geek complained, putting his hand over his mouth quickly.

"You not feelin' well, probie?" Tony asked in mock-sympathy. "Must have been tough. I mean, the guy puked a good twenty feet from you."

"Yes, Tony," Ziva interrupted as she sauntered over to them. "We are aware that I was thrown down on."

"The phrase is 'thrown up,' " Tony corrected, smirking as he looked at McGee. "Which is what the probie looks like he's gonna do."

"But the vomit is expelled down onto the ground," the Israeli argued, ignoring McGee as he continued to pale. "Why is it 'thrown up'? "

"Because, Ziva," Ducky added as he pulled the liver probe from the body of the dead petty officer. "The contents of the stomach are forced upwards," the coroner motioned to his own esophagus and stomach, "by the muscles in the lower intestine, through the relaxed pyloric sphincter, stomach, esophagus, and out of the mouth."

McGee placed the camera he had been holding on a nearby table and took off for the restroom.

"Oh my, was it something I said?"

.:NCIS:.

"And then McGoo just blew chunks," Tony finished his story, grinning at Abby as he set one of the crates of evidence down on the table between her computer and her various pieces of forensic equipment. "You should've seen his face."

The forensic tech laughed a little as she sighed and began removing bags from the crate, signing each label to keep the chain of custody. She knew how much Tony and McGee worked each other for laughs and sometimes she even got into it with them. However, once she joined, Gibbs had a tendency to catch her and she could never figure out how; it was like the older man had ninja senses or something.

"What'd Gibbs do?" Abby asked, giggling a little as she imaged her own version of the scene in which the boss delivered a swift kick to DiNozzo's backside.

"Gave me the usual head-slap," Tony muttered, rubbing the back of his head and frowning at the lab tech, who smirked.

"Aw, poor DiNozzo," she cooed in mock-concern, unable to keep from smirking as she picked up another bag to sign and doing a double take. "Aren't these Ziva's pants?"

"Yes, Abby," the Israeli said as she too carried in a crate of bagged evidence. "Those are my pants."

The lab tech glanced at Ziva and noticed that she was wearing the jumpsuit she'd seen Tony wearing once. While it certainly fit the Mossad Officer better than it had Tony, the dark blue jumpsuit just never seemed to look good on anyone but Ducky. Perhaps it was just something that the coroner bore some special skill for. Ziva set the crate on the table next to the crate Tony had brought in before looking across the table at her pants in the evidence bag.

"I got thrown down on," the Israeli explained before correcting herself. "Thrown up. I was _thrown up_ on."

"It was real delicious looking too," Tony added, moving over to Abby's desk to sit down in her chair. "McGee thought so too."

"If you say anything about McGee throwing up again," Gibbs interrupted as he carried one last crate of evidence in, causing Tony to jump up from Abby's chair in start. "I'm goin' to slap you so hard your grandkids' grandkids will feel it, DiNozzo."

"Leaving now to go work," Tony muttered as he quickly left the lab, wanting to avoid at least one head slap.

Gibbs let out a puff of air as he slammed the last crate on the table, glancing over at Abby, who quirked an eyebrow as she grinned, before leaving himself, following DiNozzo to the elevator. The Goth looked over to Ziva who was again trying to make the jumpsuit more comfortable by pulling it out of places she knew fabric was not supposed to go.

"You know," the lab tech suggested, not looking up from the bag she was signing. "I have an extra outfit or so if you'd want to get out of that potato sack. Not that you don't look great in it."

"You do?" the Israeli asked, surprised but curious as to what exactly the Goth had in mind; she welcomed anything to get out of the jumpsuit.

.:NCIS:.

"McGee, do you know anyway around this red tape? It's bugging the heck out of me," Tony grumbled as he pecked at the keys, one finger at a time. "My searches keep coming up with Kent being an only child but no parents involved."

McGee worked silently on his computer, trying to ignore the older agent as he worked. Tony had already moved the trashcans from several other desks to sit by the geek's in the classic overboard fashion. McGee never understood how Tony could take one joke and just keep beating it like a dead horse. The first time had been the jab and would have been funny if McGee had not felt as if his insides were trying to become his outsides. Now, the joke had fallen into the 'crossing the line' territory and McGee did not want to even acknowledge the older man's presence.

"Oh c'mon McBarfbag," the Italian persisted, glancing up from his keyboard. "You're the MIT graduate. You could do this in a snap."

McGee had to smirk because he had already danced around the red tape; the records were still the same even without the blaring oddities. The petty officer had been disowned at a young age for joining the Navy right out of high school. While there were no legal papers of any sort explaining this, a quick look through the petty officer's phone records showed no calls to anyone related to him, not even distantly. Most people McGee knew, even those who claimed themselves as fiercely independent called home every now and then. The next of kin on Kent's medical records was his commanding officer and emergency contact his close colleague Petty Officer Second Class Pete Ross.

"You could do it too, DiNozzo if you weren't so busy makin' fun of McGee," Gibbs grumbled at the senior field agent as he passed the desk to grab his badge and gun.

"Boss, I have Petty Officer Pete Ross's address right here," McGee stated as he quickly scribbled down the address on a post-it before grabbing his badge and gun. "He's listed as Kent's emergency contact."

"You and Ziva go-- where's Ziva?" Gibbs ordered before stopping himself and glancing around for the Mossad Officer. "McGee, find Ziva and take her with you to interview Ross. Tony, you're with me. We're going to Ross's CO Commander Perry White."

As Tony reached into the bottom drawer on his right side, he noticed Ziva walking into the bullpen and only spared a glance before needing a second. The Israeli realized Tony's stare and frowned. To say the least, the Mossad Officer looked very different when dressed out in a white short-sleeved dress shirt with a black tie on the pocket, a black pin-striped mini-skirt, and a pair of knee-high black boots with white stockings peaking out above. However, despite her hair pulled into a half ponytail, she still bore a striking resemblance to the lab tech who usually sported such attire.

"I did not want to wear that jumpsuit all day," Ziva furiously defended herself, now catching the eyes of Gibbs and McGee.

Gibbs just smirked before moving around his desk and motioning for Tony to follow him to the elevator. The two left, but not before Tony gave a smirk that resulted in the telltale head slap.

"But Boss, I didn't even say anything!"

"Not with your mouth."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: **See chapter one.

**Act Three:**

"I can't believe Clark's dead."

Ziva tried to smile sympathetically as she pulled at her skirt again, trying to keep it over her legs as much as possible to keep as many of the male sailors as she could from leering at her. McGee had offered her one of his overcoats as they left the office, but the sun burned too hot and as much as the Israeli wanted to cover herself, she did not want to die of heat stroke. So, instead, she had walked into one of the buildings on the Anacostia Naval Base and almost immediately caught the eye of nearly every male she passed.

Currently, however, she and McGee spoke to Petty Officer Pete Ross, a longtime friend of their victim Petty Officer Clark Kent. McGee could barely even believe how the names seemed to line up perfectly and took relief in that Tony had yet to make the connection; once he did, there would be no end to the puns involving Superman and kryptonite.

"How well did you know Petty Officer Kent?" Ziva asked, as she continued to try and ignore the stares she felt on her.

"We've been pals since I don't know when," the black petty officer explained, a nostalgic twinkle in his eye. "We grew up together out in Kansas. He lived on the farm with his folks, well, until he joined the Navy. His parents wanted so much more for him; they had dreams of him working for a newspaper in a big city. He loved writin' like it was his job."

"Did he write often?" McGee curiously questioned, relating to how the victim's love of writing but taking another job to pay the bills.

"Oh, all the time, sir," Ross continued, eager to talk about his friend. "Mostly short fiction. He could've done great writin' for the New Yorker or anythin' of that sort. But, he couldn't go to college without a good scholarship. So, he decided that he'd go into the Navy then go back to college after he served a couple tours."

"And his parents did not approve?" Ziva could not believe that a family would _not_ want their child to go into the military, especially to pay for college tuition.

"They wanted him to live his own life, but they didn't want him risking it for people he didn't even know. They thought I pressured him into enlisting."

"Did you?" Ziva butted in before McGee could even open his mouth to ask.

"No ma'am. I had no interest for college. I'm not nearly as smart as Clark. But the Navy's treated him right. He's always been in really great shape and with his intelligence he's risen through the ranks. He was gonna get promoted next week to CPO and assigned to a new company. We were plannin' to celebrate at The Keel today."

"But you did not go," Ziva countered, remembering only seeing the victim, Petty Officer Lane, and two others, none of whom were black.

"I've been working on getting the new uniforms for everyone in the building, ma'am. We're supposed to adopt them by fiscal 2008. We just got a shipment this morning and I couldn't spare time for lunch. Wish I had though."

Ziva's gaze softened as she recognized the loss the petty officer felt, knowing how time lost could never be regained. Now his friend was gone, Ross would never get a chance to say so many things and the Israeli could not help but feel a knot develop in her stomach as she recalled her failed attempts to revive the young Kent. McGee also noticed the remorse Ross felt and instead decided to change the subject.

"Tell us about your CO," the geek stated, knowing that Tony and Gibbs were in the other room interviewing the Commander.

"Commander White?" the black seemed almost surprised by the change in subject. "He's stern but compassionate. He knows what he's doing and makes sure that we all know that. I think he just got reassigned from overseas a couple months ago."

"You think?" Ziva picked up the line of questioning, hoping that this could be a lead.

"Yeah," Ross replied, watching the Israeli suspiciously. "I don't know the exact day. There's some serious reassignment going on right now. Commander White said it had something to do with the change in plans for Iraq."

"So, he treats you fairly?" Ziva continued, not giving McGee a chance.

"Yes ma'am," the black looked more and more uneasy as the Mossad Officer seemed to grow more aggressive. "Why wouldn't he?"

"What my partner is trying to imply is," McGee glanced over at Ziva, who crossed and recrossed her legs, trying to move herself into a position that would attract less attention to her. "Would Commander White have any reason to want to kill Clark Kent?"

"No sir."

.:NCIS:.

"Are you new here, Commander?" Gibbs questioned as Tony stood next to one of the naval officer's cabinets, leaning against it with a notepad in hand.

"I am," White answered gruffly as he sat a little forward in his chair, leaning on one elbow on his desk and carefully watching an unlit cigar in a glass ashtray close to where Gibbs sat. "Who's askin'?"

Gibbs smirked a little as he pulled out his badge and flashed the credentials as he took a once-over of the Commander. The man's temples bore the first hints of aging and he looked as if to be nearing the end of his days in the Navy. His face bore wrinkles and the pockmarks of war, but a proud grimace kept Gibbs from wondering how age was affecting his personality.

"NCIS," Gibbs continued, already beginning to like the commander. "Two of our agents witnessed the death of one of your petty officer's this morning."

"Yeah, Kent," White replied, his face darkening a little as he glanced over to a file sitting on his desk. "He was a good kid. Young, but good."

"That his file?"

"I'm sure administration won't mind you borrowing it."

Tony laughed a little where he leaned but when he received not one but two glares, he quieted and went back to taking notes.

"How long have you been here at Anacostia?" Gibbs asked as he turned back to face the Commander.

"Long enough," White muttered as he reached for the cigar and stuck it in his mouth without lighting it. "They're callin' me chief," he motioned towards the door "I hate being called chief. Kent 'specially loved callin' me chief."

"Are you two old friends?" Tony piped up from next to the cabinet, glancing up from his notepad.

"He served under me on one tour over in Iraq," White explained, gnawing on the edge of the cigar, "Told 'im to call me chief, you know to keep his morale up, try that whole mentor thing. The whole company started calling me chief."

A gentle knock on the door interrupted the interview and the commander looked a little more than irritated as he pulled the cigar from his mouth and stuck it back in the glass ashtray. Gibbs glanced to White, who spoke to the investigator without words in a way that only ex-military could.

"Who is it?" the commander asked, following protocol, but looking more like he would rather shoot himself in the face then allow visitors.

"It's Lane, chief," a woman answered quietly and Tony recognized the voice as the officer they had questioned before.

"Great Caesar's Ghost, don't call me chief!" White cantankerously called back, rolling his eyes and giving Gibbs a grimace before continuing, "I'm busy, Lane. What's the concern?"

"You wanted Officer Kent's personal effects?" Lane asked, her voice sounding less steady than it had when the two NCIS agents questioned her earlier.

"Enter," White admitted the redhead into his office and she ducked in through the door with a cardboard box of things from the dead petty officer's desk.

Tony silently offered to take the box and she smiled graciously in reply but continued into the office as the Italian closed the door behind her. White and Gibbs both stood as Lane moved towards the desk, a look in her eyes both recognized. As White cleared a portion of his desk, Gibbs turned back to look at Tony, who seemed more sedate than usual. The eye contact spoke of the mutual agreement to say nothing and they instead moved towards the door of the office.

"We can continue this later, Commander," Gibbs offered, remembering the loss of his own Caitlyn Todd.

"Nah, we can finish this," White returned in a stubborn refusal to admit the pain Gibbs knew the man was feeling. "Lane, just put Kent's things on my desk."

"Yes chief," the woman murmured quietly pushing an imaginary hair behind her ear after setting the cardboard box on her CO's desk.

"Toldja not to call me chief, Lane," the commander said softly, not the bellowing bark from before.

Tony glanced over at Gibbs and the two left quietly, leaving Commander White and Petty Officer Lane to talk. Tony knew from personal experience to give those grieving some space, especially those suffering from the loss of a friend. The death of Kate had hit the team like a bombshell; it had been sudden and unexpected. Gibbs had taken on a much nicer attitude, Abby had cried and played a maudlin dirge, and the only person who stayed their normal self was Ziva. Then again, Tony had initially hated the woman. The way that she just strutted into the bullpen asking where Gibbs was had just put him off, especially since she had sat down at Kate's desk and assumed she could have it.

He could barely believe that Kate died almost three years ago. The time certainly had flown. Between the heavy case work, the undercover mission involving Jeanne, Tony felt he had not spent much time thinking of his former partner. He regretted not devoting as much time to prayer as he promised her ghost one night alone in his apartment when nightmares of her death tormented him. However, he returned to the present and found his boss watching him with a curious gaze. As the younger agent closed the wooden door, though, he smirked a little at the older man.

"Y'know, she's a red--"

Gibbs interrupted the Italian with a head slap.

.:NCIS:.

Working quietly, Jimmy Palmer pressed the films from the X-Rays onto the viewer on the wall, hooking the sheet under the edges of the machine before flicking the light switch on. He did not stay in front of the machine long and instead returned to the body, wondering exactly how Ducky did what he did. The doctor bore the impeccable ability to diagnose the cause of death within only a few clues and Palmer simply could never pick up on all of the things that the older man did. Just standing here and taking the time to look the Petty Officer over for injuries, the assistant mortician found no obvious cause of death; no gaping wounds, no bullet holes, not even bruises. But then something came to the young brunette and he moved to the head of the victim.

"I don't know exactly what to say," the young man began as he pulled up a chair from another table to sit on.

What could he say to a corpse? 'Sorry, you're dead. We're gonna find who did this' or would he go more along the lines of 'we're sorry for your loss'? Palmer shook his head as he gazed at the petty officer. Jimmy examined the well-built body, black hair, and almost flawless skin, amazed at how well a human body could be made. His admiration was not some sort of sick fascination, but instead awe at whoever or whatever created the universe.

"Um, hi," Palmer nervously continued, adjusting his glasses and awkwardly smiling at the corpse on the table. "My name's Jimmy and your name is Clark, I think."

He checked the clipboard by the victim's left hand and scanned the collection of papers to read from a pastel yellow sheet, "Yeah, Clark… Kent. Your name's Clark Kent? That's something DiNozzo would name his kid."

When nothing but silence filled the autopsy room, he flipped through some of the papers on the clipboard again, more for show than anything; his brain could not produce much more conversation. He glanced to the petty officer and remembered a case a few months ago with a naval officer who looked similar.

"You know," Palmer said aloud, trying to make himself a little more comfortable with the idea of talking to a dead body. "This reminds me of a case a couple months ago. An officer in real good shape like you are, dead for unknown reasons, like you. I can't find anything on your x-rays to suggest that you even died in the first place."

"But we came to realize that it was a bio-agent," came Ducky's weathered voice as the coroner walked slowly from the sliding doors towards the table where his assistant sat with the dead body. "A toxic gas known as GB, or Sarin."

"Doctor!" Palmer started, jumping to his feet and knocking over the stool he had sat on. "I didn't know you were there."

"Relax, Mr. Palmer," the older man attempted to calm the assistant. "I was just coming to check on Mr. Kent here."

"He's the same, doctor," Palmer admitted, picking up his stool from the floor and righting it carefully. "Still dead, that is."

Ducky chuckled a little at the younger man's poor attempt at humor before replying, "He is indeed. But Mr. Kent, I'm sure, enjoyed your conversation with him. Quite riveting."

"Not really," Palmer blurted out, trying to relay his awkward attempt at mimicking Ducky.

"Mr. Palmer, if you would, check in with Abby, please. I will continue here."

"Yes, sir."

As Palmer darted from the room, the sliding doors almost not opening fast enough, Ducky turned back to face the dead petty officer. Something about the dead man did remind the coroner of the case his assistant mentioned. The lack of external injuries and bruising provided very little in the way of an explanation of the petty officer's last hours and, from the x-rays on the wall, the young man died of something other than asphyxiation. So far, the doctor had little in the way of a cause of death.

"Perhaps it was something similar that killed you, my friend," Ducky admitted, leaning over the body a little to get a better look at the dead man's face. "You should not be here on my table; that is the only thing I am certain of."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes**: See chapter one.

**Act Four:**

Tony smacked his computer again and glared over at McGee, who seemed to be having much less frustration with his own machine. The geek continued to type furiously, apparently working on a lead that the Italian could not seem to pick up on. Looking for sympathy, Tony glanced over across the bullpen to Ziva, who still wore Abby's shirt and skirt; the boots were taken off almost anytime that she got off her feet. However, the Israeli too buried herself in some papers before making a phone call.

"Don't blame it for your mistakes, DiNozzo," Gibbs muttered as he strode into the bullpen, looking about ready to hurt someone. "Tell me, one of you has a lead."

"Boss, I couldn't find any parents of our petty officer," Tony supplied hurrying to Gibbs's side. "I was looking for maybe some family reasons to kill him, like drug smuggling history, or rich background. But there's nothing, no family names even on the birth certificate. So it's they're either in witness protection--"

"Or they disowned him," the older man finished as he glanced over to McGee, hoping the geek had a better lead.

"I went looking into Witness Protection and there's no trace of a 'Kent' in the system, so I thought he might have been disowned," McGee continued on Gibbs's train of thought. "I called down to Agent Lee earlier to check in on the specifics, but--"

"When you're disowned McGee, there aren't any legal documents," Tony interrupted, his usual smile fading as he remembered his own father disowning him in a rather dramatic fashion: announcing it to the entire extended family at a reunion before proceeding to physically kick him out of the house. "It just kinda happens."

As Ziva sidled up to the Italian, she took care in examining him discreetly; something about the shuttered look in the usually bright green eyes allowed her to presume quite a bit about her partner, especially since she had done research on all of them for Ari only two years ago. She knew about the DiNozzo family and the large, wealthy family business in New York, knew about his father and the death of his biological mother, but, as the Italian had said, there were no legal documents that disconnected Tony from his family.

"I know, Tony," McGee blazed onward, before picking up a remote from his desk and clicking a couple of the buttons to bring up a death certificate on the plasma between his and Tony's desks. "Jonathan Kent, our petty officer's father, died while Clark was over in Iraq."

"But the death record says Jonathan Shuster," Ziva commented, staring intently at the plasma.

"Yeah, he and his wife Martha legally _changed_ their names while Clark was in Iraq," the geek added, drawing in a grimace from Tony and a dark frown from Gibbs. "When Clark got back from his tour, the family farm was sold to some other family, and he couldn't find his family anywhere. So, he moved here to D.C. and applied to work at Anacostia, where he met Petty Officer's Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen."

"So, maybe his parents wanted to cap him?" Tony suggested, trying to sound less hollow than he felt.

"It could happen," Ziva admitted before launching her own theory, " However, I called a couple contacts to see if there was any sort of chatter and it turns out that there have been some murmurs about someone working from the inside the Navy to stage a potential terrorist attack."

"And we just found out about this_ now_?" Gibbs turned on the Israeli, who almost immediately jumped back to defend herself.

"I have been trying to rely less on my contacts because there have been some attempts to find moles in the cells where they are located."

"So you're watching out for the well-being of _terrorists_?"

"They are not terrorists! They are reliable double agents working to keep this country safe."

"Like Ari?"

Ziva froze in place, her mouth sealed as McGee and Tony stood almost gawking at the conflict that had just erupted between her and Gibbs. However, before anyone could so much as reply, the phone on Gibbs's desk rang loudly and he broke the tense staring contest with Ziva to answer it. Tony quietly backed towards his desk as Ziva turned on her heel and strode from the bullpen, well as much as she could in a mini-skirt and long stockings. Tony, however, frowned a little as he thought of whom she could go to. Ducky and Abby would certainly lend their ear to Gibbs before the Israeli, and DiNozzo found himself feeling a little sorry for the woman.

Sure, her revelation had been a bit of a bombshell, but Tony knew that Ari had been in Ziva's care when the terrorist had met his end with Gibbs's gun. The Italian knew from personal experience that working with anyone for long formed a bond; Ziva surely had grieved the loss of Haswari, even when everyone else was gunning for him with a passion that bordered on obsession. Initially, Tony had not even taken the time to consider her feelings around his death, especially considering how well she hid her emotions, rivaling Gibbs in who wore the best poker face.

"That was Abby," Gibbs interrupted Tony's thoughts. "She thinks she might have something for us."

"Boss, what about Ziva?" McGee asked, unusually timid, but understandably so when his boss looked about to kill him just for speaking.

"Get down to Abby's lab, I'll worry about Ziva," the older man almost snarled, his irritation apparent.

Tony and McGee scampered towards the back elevator, glancing at each other before Tony simply shrugged and pressed the button in the elevator to close the doors. However, as the metal doors slid shut, the two agents could see Gibbs sit back down at his desk for a second before getting up again, looking sincerely frustrated.

.:NCIS:.

"Hey guys!" Abby greeted Tony and McGee as they entered the lab before she noticed the younger man's pale complexion. "Oh, McGee. Should I get you a trash can?"

"No, Abby," the geek said before Tony interrupted him.

"Gibbs said you had something?"

"Yeah, I do," the lab tech added before noticing that her silver-haired fox had yet to make an appearance. "Where's the bossman?"

Glancing at each other, Tony and McGee attempted to salvage some sort of lie to tell her, but before they could even begin to weave the fib, the Goth drew her own conclusions.

"It's Ziva isn't it," Abby asked, her hands twisted into claw-like forms as if she were trying to read their minds.

When Tony nodded, she gave a loud whoop before performing a victory dance of sorts, jumping from foot to foot, causing her chains to jingle as she did so. The loud beeping of one of her machines caused her to cease and she smirked at the two NCIS agents who seemed a little calmer. The smug look on Abby's face caused Tony to grin back, already empathizing a little but McGee still gave the impression that someone may have killed his cat.

"Our minds are no match for your powers, Abby-Wan," Tony said, trying to ease his own discomfort.

"Ooooh! I like it!" Abby exclaimed back bouncing around again before turning back to face her computer screens and waiting only a couple seconds for her two friends to amble to the space between her computer and the plasma. "Okay, so I was looking some of the yummy evidence you guys brought back and there's some pretty interesting stuff. First is the puke all over Ziva's clothes."

"It _was_ pleasantly colored," Tony added, taking a jab at McGee. "Isn't that right, McBarfbag?"

"Tony," the geek warned, his tone displaying just how aggravated he was.

"It is this really kind of cool color," Abby admitted, trying to find the right words to describe the color of the vomit she had been swabbing earlier. "Kind of a gray-orange color, like the sunset almost. He must have had some peppers or something."

"Or magic kool-aid," DiNozzo joked, unable to resist the reference.

"Very, very true, Tony," the lab tech complimented the older man. "Ducky actually told me about a theory he has. Something to do with a poison. You'd have to talk to him though to get it. He had this really elaborate explanation with words that only Ducky could say."

As McGee turned to potentially leave, Abby stopped him with a scowl and he turned back to face the plasma.

"What I called you guys down here for was this," the Goth explained as she pressed a few keys and a large graph with a variety of different colored bars of diverse lengths. "I took a look and what made up the puke and found the usual suspects, except for that guy on the far right."

"I don't think I can even hope to know what those numbers mean," Tony acknowledged, squinting a little as if it could help him better understand.

"Isopropylamine?" McGee asked, peeking back at Abby for an explanation and she did not disappoint.

"Very good McGee! I'm surprised you even knew that. Not many know how these babies work. Anyway, it's the stuff they use in Round-Up and other herbicides," the lab tech clarified, swiveling around to flash McGee a grin, impressed by his quick evaluation. "But the catch is that it isn't in a high enough concentration to do much damage. Sure, our victim would've had a serious bellyache, but it wouldn't be enough to kill him. Not by a long shot."

"So, this means….?" Tony asked, not quite following the woman's train of thought.

"It means, Tony," Abby delightfully explicated, a little eager to make sure they knew what was going on in her head. "that it was used in whatever killed Petty Officer Kent. The isopropylamine was not the limiting reactant."

"Now you really lost me Abs."

"Okay, so a chemical reaction normally can be carried out until one of the reactants runs out. In this case, the isopropylamine was neutralizing something. Once all of this other reactant was neutralized, all the leftover isopropylamine just stuck around. So, this is one part of whatever killed our petty officer. I would bet that there's at least two other components that make it up."

"Makes sense," Tony consented, crossing his arms as he thought about it.

"But here's the kicker," Abby continued, grinning even more. "I also checked out some of the mugs that you gave me to look at. Guess what was in them."

"The isopropo--stuff."

"That and a couple other things," the lab tech could not help but nearly giggle in excitement when McGee turned around to look at her, almost as anxious as she was for the answer. "isopropyl alcohol being one of them."

She looked at the two of them, expecting them to jump all over her an answer. When neither seemed to make any sort of connection, she gestured with her hands to McGee to provide the answer. He certainly did not know, and his mouth opened and closed a few times while trying to make a connection. The silence then caused Tony to turn around to look at Abby as well. She waved her hands again in an attempt to push them to answer. However, neither did; Tony simply watched her, as if her face would give some sort of clue, and McGee found himself performing his fish imitation again.

"It's one half of the mix needed for Sarin," announced Ducky as he stood in the doorway, with a Petri dish in his hand.

"Ducky! You spoiled it!" Abby whined as the coroner meandered over to her, looking a little grim.

"I think that this may be another of a series of killings, my dear," he admitted to the three gathered around Abby's computer. "But to be sure, we will need to test this tissue sample from our dead petty officer."

"Yeah, didn't we have a case a couple months ago that had a guy who died from Sarin ingestion?" McGee offered, his eyes now lighting up in recognition as he remembered.

"We never caught the killer though, Timothy," Ducky explained as Abby took the Petri dish from him and began cutting the sample into smaller pieces. "And did you finish the toxicology report yet, Abigail?"

"Still runnin' Duck-meister," the lab tech replied. "Have you seen Gibbs yet? I called him."

"He has something to deal with first," Tony stated quickly, trying to dismiss the subject.

When Abby stared at him intensely, the Italian had the feeling that if she could read minds, she would be doing so now. McGee took this opportunity to head towards the doorway. He attempted to sneak quietly away but had to stop when he came face-to-face with the boss himself. Gibbs looked pissed, beyond pissed, but Ziva stood directly behind him, so that had to count for something.

"McGee," the older man acknowledged the geek before moving past him.

"Hey Gibbs!" the geek heard from behind him before DiNozzo joined him in the hallway.

"I can only say that it's magic," Tony joked, referring to Ziva. "There's no other person in the world besides Gibbs that could piss someone off and then make it up within ten minutes."

"We're gonna need Ziva," McGee admitted, knowing that there could potentially be some terrorist activity. "I'm glad that she seems okay."

"She always seems okay, McGoo," the Italian commented with a grin. "She's Ziva, it's what she does."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:** See Chapter one.

**Act Five:**

"Duck, do you really think it's Sarin?"

Ziva glanced over at Gibbs, who was currently deep in discussion with Ducky, from where she stood next to Abby, a questioning eyebrow cocked. The lab tech noticed this and pulled up a new window on her computer, revealing a space fill model of what looked to be a ridiculously complicated molecule. Abby turned to face Ziva, pulling her gaze back to the plasma. Pointing to the screen of her own computer, she then pulled up the results for the mass spectrometer next to it.

"Abby, my dear," Ducky commented, approaching the plasma himself, "Were there any sort of identifiers in the isopropylamine?"

"Nope," the lab tech bubbled back, "But I'm working on that tissue sample you sent me, it's likely that if this is Sarin, other components were absorbed into the body before he upchucked."

"Is there any serious potential that this could be an attack?" Gibbs asked, his ice blue eyes filled with a barely-contained alarm as he moved to Abby's other side.

"What does the famous gut say?" Abby asked, curious as to the older man's ideas.

"Abby," the agent warned, his gaze darkening as he watched Abby's bubbly mood become somber as she looked back to the screen then back to him.

"There is potential," Ziva interrupted before the lab tech could even reply. "We have had three cases now with the same bioweapon responsible."

"I'm still testing that," Abby inserted as a caveat, "Ducky and I don't know for sure. It's just a very strong conjecture."

"Quite," Ducky added, his grimace already foretelling of the potential danger. "However, we have a very strong but."

"Ooh Ducky, I didn't even know," the lab tech smirked at the mortician, her lively mood resurfacing. "Where do you work out?"

"Abby!" Gibbs brought his hand behind her head in what served to warn her of the potential head-slap. "Just because I sent DiNozzo on an errand doesn't mean you need to fill his place."

"Sorry bossman," the Goth apologized, returning to the computer screen. "Well, I think what Ducky really meant was that the most important component of Sarin is pretty hard to come by."

"How hard?"

"Well, the component I'm talking about is the methylphosphonyl difluoride. It's a Schedule 1 substance because of its connection to making binary chemical weapons. You'd have to have some serious clearance to get some of this stuff and even more sophisticated equipment to make Sarin from it."

"Surely there are stockpiles of nerve agents still in the U.S.," Ziva interrupted, a skeptical look donning her face. "For research at the least."

"Nope," Abby turned now to face the Israeli. "DOD destroyed it all back in '02. The Army finished first with its stockpiles. Trust me, it was a big deal, especially considering how close to 9/11 it was."

"What if one perhaps got a hold of one of these weapons before the destruction?" Ducky asked, leaning a little on the lab tech's desk.

"Well, most of them were M687 artillery shells and very small compact grenades," the Goth attempted to explain, her memory of the Sarin gas limited by her standards but large when compared to any other. "The pressure has to be really high to keep Sarin in gas form," she emulated this by miming squeezing something between her hands "I think some guy tried it a few years ago but Sarin decomposes really quickly in terms of other chemical weapons. I think the shelf-life is something like five years if the components are kept separate until they're used, but if it's just Sarin, it won't last long. Like, you know how Ziva got puked on this morning? The Sarin had already decomposed by the time it hit her because of all the impurities in it. Well, that and the petty officer had already partially digested it."

"So there's no potential," Gibbs summed, relaxing just a little as he watched the lab tech.

"Not non-existent, but not really huge," Abby spoke, elaborating this point by waving her hands around, first in small circles then larger ones.

"But the chatter—" Ziva began, looking a little more than confused.

"Could be for another attack, my dear," Ducky explained, paling a little himself as he spoke. "Which means we shouldn't stare at this too long."

"I'll inform the director," Gibbs stated matter-of-factly in a manner almost militaryesque before turning to leave, his stride quick and purposeful as he left.

"Let me know, Abigail," the coroner said with a slight grimace, not looking forward to the wild goose chase the case was already turning out to be. "when those tissue samples are done."

"Will do Duck-man," the lab tech said, giving a sloppy salute as the older man departed in a slower but still equally forceful manner as Gibbs.

When Abby turned to Ziva, wondering what parting words the Israel would leave in her wake, the latter made no move to leave but instead gathered her thoughts before formulating her own question.

"How susceptible would one of us be if this is a trap?"

.:NCIS:.

"So then the kid was all, 'Sweet! I'm a real cop now!' "

"Somehow I doubt that."

"What, you don't believe me?"

McGee rolled his eyes as Tony took a pause in his story telling to take a swig of his soda. The geek had a hard time considering the possibility that Tony could have a positive influence on anyone, much less a ten-year old they had worked with a couple weeks prior. The boy in question lived for school and spent hours upon hours studying, apparently determined to become a genius. For the boy to suddenly drop all his aspirations at becoming a doctor and suddenly take up the fantasy of police work seemed rather fishy to McGee.

"Did he mean it?" the geek questioned, glancing between the road and Tony, who lounged in the passenger seat.

"'Course he meant it!" the senior agent protested, pushing his soda back into the cup holder. "Why wouldn't he mean it?"

"Maybe because he uses this thing called sarcasm," McGee retorted, smirking as the other man frowned and glared as much as he could manage from the passenger seat.

"Ten-year-olds don't even know what sarcasm is, much less use it, McGee," the Italian argued back, "Anyways, looks like we're here."

Driving up to the sidewalk next to the house, McGee could not help but to make judgments about the widow who now lived there. Everything he had heard about her made him wonder what kind of parent she was for disowning her child while he was off fighting for the country. While he certainly understood that some parents 'wanted better' for their children, the victim's parents seemed to have taken this to a much farther extent than necessary.

"White-picket fence look familiar to you, Tony?"

"No probie, it doesn't. Should it?"

"You've never read Superman?"

"I've seen all of the movies."

"That doesn't count."

McGee pushed the door open and stepped from the driver's side, squinting a little in the sun. When he turned to face Tony, the older agent already had a pair of aviators perched on the bridge of his nose. Something about the way DiNozzo visibly sagged in the saddle as he approached the house made McGee question Gibbs's decision to send him over Ziva. Sure, the Israeli certainly wore slightly inappropriate clothing for the job but sending Tony seemed almost far-fetched. While the geek did not know details, to any sense of the word, of Tony's family life, he knew enough to recognize a couple of DiNozzo's touchy spots. Well, enough to push the right buttons in an argument.

"The American dream," McGee heard Tony mutter quietly as he trudged up the stairs to the wooden porch donned with a potted sunflower and various other blooms.

"Some would think," the geek replied, ringing the doorbell with an outstretched finger.

"It's not just about the fence, Probie," DiNozzo explained, now facing the younger man, his sunglasses hiding his eyes completely. "It's the two and a half kids and the dog too."

Before McGee could reply, the thick wooden door behind the screened one swung open and a middle-aged woman with brilliant red hair stared at them from behind the screen. Nothing about her screamed poor parent; every part of her, from her clogs to her knitted sweater, portrayed the classic stereotypical mom. She smiled politely at the two agents before asking, "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

"Martha Shuster?" Tony spoke first, flashing his badge to the woman as he talked. "My name is Special Agent DiNozzo and this is Special Agent McGee, we're here to speak about your son Clark."

"I'm sorry," the woman apologized a little, her smile fading from her face. "I don't know anyone by that name."

"Ma'am, we know you disowned your son a few years ago," McGee explained, whipping out his own badge, which the redhead glanced at before watching the two men warily. "We just wanted to ask you a couple questions about him."

"I said I don't know him," Martha continued, completely ignoring what McGee said. "Clark is not the name of anyone in our family, much less my son."

"Please Ms. Shuster," Tony attempted, moving her attention to him.

"_Mrs._ Shuster," the woman corrected, almost outright glaring at DiNozzo as he glanced sheepishly away.

"My apologies, ma'am," he immediately regretted his assumption as to her preference of name. "I did not mean to offend."

"Tony, just back up and give her some room," McGee scolded, wondering if she would perhaps speak to him if he played the good cop. "She's not a suspect."

DiNozzo immediately caught on to the rouse, his posture changing a little and the geek got the idea that Tony seemed to like the idea of getting a chance to snipe at someone who very much emulated his own family. The Italian took a couple steps back from the door, gulping down a deep breath more for show than anything.

"My bad," the older man apologized, rolling his eyes. "Didn't know bad mothers got preference."

"_Excuse me?"_ Martha scoffed, her glare piercing Tony in an incredible fashion. "You'd better watch your mouth, young man."

"Rookie, back to the car," McGee commanded, straightening his shoulders and pointing fiercely back towards the sedan, trying to make himself seem older.

"But boss—"

"DiNozzo," the geek put on his best Gibbs face, working to emulate the ex-Marine; an act he had been trying to perfect for years now.

"Fine," came the grumbled acceptance but, before Tony could turn to leave, McGee plucked the sunglasses from his nose.

"And I'll be taking these back," the geek pocketed the aviators, feeling a certain pride as he noticed Tony's grimace, knowing the older man could do nothing without blowing the entire rouse. "Maybe in a few years, hotshot."

Grumbling under his breath, Tony lumbered back towards the sedan, kicking the dirt to seal the deal. As McGee turned back to face Martha, he noticed that the woman was busy scowling at DiNozzo's retreating back and so he coughed suggestively before breathing in to make himself a little more broad-chested.

"I apologize profusely for him, Mrs. Shuster," the geek faked, holding up his hands in a sort of surrender. "He's harder to house-break than my Retriever. This isn't the first time he's said something offensive."

"You really should get a better handle on him, Special Agent…"

"McGee, NCIS," he filled in, resisting the urge to smile at the circumstances. "I'm sorry if we've disturbed you."

"You wanted to ask about Clark?" Martha asked quietly, glancing at the floor before staring into McGee's eyes with an intensity he had only seen in Gibbs.

"If it's no trouble ma'am. Completely confidential information. We just need to figure out a few things in our investigation."

"What'd that boy do now?"

"Well, ma'am, to put it bluntly, he died."

The redhead's left hand moved to her upper chest as she sagged against the doorway, her gaze diverting from his eyes. The fury was completely depleted from her eyes and instead a shocked misery took its place. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper, "Died? Clark's dead?"

"We're trying to get who did it, Mrs. Shuster," McGee attempted to comfort her from where he stood beyond the screen. "Anything you say could help us do that."

Her eyes drifted back up to his and she struggled with the idea before consenting, "Of course, officer, come right in."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes:** See chapter one.

**Act Six:**

Jenny Shepard tapped a manicured fingernail against the desk as she read through the missive Cynthia had just passed across her desk, confused as she dismissed the secretary. The small note simply stated that Gibbs had called to meet her in her office, rather than his usual barging in. While the redhead certainly appreciated the warning, it was completely out of character for him to do so, which worried her immensely. She re-read the petite scrap of paper again before picking up the handset from the switchook and dialing the number she knew by heart.

"Gibbs," the rough answer dictated his mood.

"Jethro, about that meeting—" she began, her concern growing as she listened to him talk to someone else in the background.

"I'm waiting for you out here, Director," Gibbs continued and Jenny was sure she could hear a mumbled, "That's good work, McGee. Get on that."

Hearing the tell-tale click, she pulled the handset from her ear and, even more puzzled than before, set it back on the switchook before slipping her heels back on. She slowly stood from her desk and moved to the door, her mind furiously churning to try and figure out what exactly Gibbs was up to before she reached him. However, almost as soon as she left the doorway between her office and her secretary's, Cynthia addressed her, "Special Agent Gibbs said he'd be waiting out side for you, ma'am."

"Thank you, Cynthia," Jenny replied more out of habit than sincerity.

As he had promised, Gibbs stood, leaning against the railing overlooking the bullpen. When Jenny stepped up beside him, he faced her for a second before turning back to watch McGee move back to his desk. Tony stood and meandered over to the geek's desk, leaning on it a little as he watched something on the screen. Ziva sauntered into the bullpen from the back elevator and approached the desk her teammates stood around. Speaking in low tones, the three conversed, almost as if they knew their superiors stood above.

"Jethro," the Director addressed the Special Agent standing next to her.

"Director, we have a possible threat," Gibbs said quietly, his voice a gruff whisper, watching his people gathered around McGee's desk.

"Do we have any details yet?" Jenny continued, calmer than many times that Gibbs had seen her in such a situation.

"Not yet, but my team is working on it," he replied, crossing his arms on the banister before glancing over at her.

"Then I trust you'll let me know as soon as possible," she replied matter-of-factly, smiling a little at the man. "Jethro, I know your team. If anyone can get it taken care of it's them."

"We're not so sure," Gibbs explained, watching as Abby giddily hopped up next to McGee, peering over his shoulder. "But we have to know a few things, Director."

Nodding a little, Jenny acknowledged this fact but still felt uneasy about the situation. Her hands had been full the past week with various PR issues. The FBI and CIA had gotten into a pissing match over jurisdiction of a high-profile case when she entered the argument and took the investigation from underneath their noses because it occurred on the USS Ronald Reagan. Needless to say, neither of the other bureaus had been rather happy with her or NCIS. Now, with this threat of an attack, she was going to need the same people she had just pissed off unintentionally.

"Alright, Jethro," the redhead recognized Gibbs's request, feeling her headache returning with a dramatic fury. "What would that be?"

"Where are the Sarin stockpiles?" he stated bluntly, not wanting to beat around the bush.

"Excuse me?"

"Sarin, GB, nerve gas. Where are the stock piles and how easily can they be accessed?"

"I'm assuming this relates."

"That'd be a correct assumption, Director."

"Jethro, they were destroyed a few years ago," Jenny stated quietly in a nearly scolding tone. "You know that."

"I know what the report said, not what actually happened," Gibbs countered, his look darkening.

"Jethro."

"Director."

"And this is really necessary?"

"As important to the investigation as my team is to me."

Jenny paused for a couple moments, considering and reconsidering her options. Turning towards her, Gibbs noticed a look of debate in her face and watched as she mentally weighed out her options. She glanced back down at Gibbs's team as they all pulled their chairs into a circle, including Abby, the tell-tale sign of one of DiNozzo's infamous campfires; the fact that the other team members hated campfires was well known throughout the building. Finally arriving at her decision, the redhead turned towards Gibbs, her nearly cobalt blue eyes catching his icy blue.

"We should discuss this in my office."

.:NCIS:.

Tony watched his teammates as they scooted their chairs into the circle, bemoaning the curse of the campfire but not outright rejecting the idea. Abby, excited to join in on the discussion borrowed the chair from Gibbs's desk before completing the gap in the circle Ziva and McGee left her. Leaning forward on his elbows, Tony began the discussion, keeping a close eye on the others' faces to judge reactions.

"So, we now know for sure it's Sarin, right Abs?" DiNozzo said more as a statement than a question, but still waited for the lab tech to nod.

"No question about it, Tony," she replied, bouncing in her chair, eager to explain. "It was hard though to get past all the impurities. Government-made Sarin wouldn't have all the extra stuff I found so this GB is home-made."

"Didn't you say that was impossible?" McGee interjected, sitting back in his chair pulling Tony's sunglasses out of his pocket and placing them on his nose.

"Ooh, nice shades McGee," Abby complimented, grinning and grabbing them from his face to put them on hers. "Do I look cool or do I look cool?"

"Hey, those are mine!" Tony protested, reaching for the aviators nearly sliding off the Goth's thin nose.

"If you could concentrate for one second, we could get down to the terrorist attack," Ziva interrupted, crossing her legs and looking frustrated. "There are lives at stake."

A pause settled between the other three before Tony sat back in his chair and slid towards his desk, picking up his notepad. He flipped through a couple pages before rolling back into the circle. McGee, realizing the importance of this did the same and opened his own notepad to the conversation with Martha Shuster.

"So Mrs. Shuster claims that no one could ever have a grudge against our victim, Superman?" DiNozzo asked, flipping to the info he gathered on Sarin and reading through the effects quietly.

"That's what she said," the geek acknowledged before continuing, "But she said that Clark was the goody-goody type. People could hate him just for being an all-around good guy."

"But would that provoke a biological attack?" Ziva questioned, punctuating each of her words with a sharp jab of her right hand into her left.

"So you're thinking that this guy knew Clark?" Tony wondered aloud, glancing up from his notebook to rejoin the conversation.

"Just the opposite," Ziva explained quickly in an attempt to get her theory across as swiftly as possible. "It's easier to test a chemical weapon on someone you've never known before."

"But then how would he get it into Clark's food? He was with friends," McGee countered, remembering just the handful of other people in the pub.

"Maybe he has a friend working there," Ziva suggested.

"Yeah that'd go over well," Tony condemned with a sarcastic smirk, " 'Hey could you do me a favor, buddy? Could you just put this chemical weapon in someone important's food? Yeah, nevermind the fact you could get fired for this.'"

"Ziva does have a point though," Abby interrupted, smiling nonetheless at Tony's scenario. "The Sarin used had to be basically mixed on site. He couldn't have just handed it off to someone else unless he wanted to risk killing them as well."

"So he was working there?" McGee asked, before an idea popped into his head.

Tony had the same thought as he pointed to the geek's computer, "McGee get that security footage."

"Already on it, Tony," McGee replied as he was already sliding back to his desk as the other three broke the circle.

"When you get the faces of the workers, send 'em down to me and I'll be right on it, McGee," Abby stated as she moved towards the back elevator.

"Ziva, get a list—" Tony began.

"Of all the pub employees," the Israeli was already typing furiously on her keyboard and propping the handset of her phone against her ear.

"And I will…well, I'll tell Gibbs," the Italian felt at odds with nothing particularly important to do, the dread of worthlessness creeping into his stomach as he pounded up the stairs to the Director's office.

He pulled open the door and found Gibbs just leaving the Director's office with Jenny herself just a few paces behind him. They noticed DiNozzo and stopped in their path as he spoke, "Boss, we have a lead. We don't think that the suspect knew the victim at all. Clark Kent was just a test subject for his main plan of action. We're working now to get an ID on him."

"A test subject?" Jenny asked, alarmed at how the situation had already escalated. "I thought this was only a _possible _threat, Jethro."

"That's what it was until we got this news," Gibbs rectified, stony-faced as he watched Tony carefully where he stood. "So what's this guy's connection to the Navy?"

"We don't know yet, boss, but we're working on it," DiNozzo explained, trying to take some of the tension out of the situation.

"Then don't just stand here DiNozzo, get down there and help!" the older man ordered and Tony disappeared from the office like a bat out of hell.

"Jethro, this just became more dire," Jenny stated, her gaze dangerous enough to match the man she addressed.

"Ya think?" the ex-marine returned sarcastically before striding from the Cynthia's office with the Director hot on his heels.

"I'll inform SecNav," she mentioned as she strode to the door into MTAC as Gibbs hurried down the stairs into the bullpen.

"Has anyone talked to Ducky about this yet?" he asked quickly, glancing around at his agents, who all looked puzzled at this.

"Should we have?" McGee attempted to answer, accidentally placing himself in the line of fire.

"You didn't think it'd be important to know the symptoms of a Sarin attack?" Gibbs almost growled at the geek.

"I'll go do that right now boss," Tony stood from his desk and hurried to the elevator to escape the wrath of the older agent.

"Boss, I'm looking through the security feed of the pub," McGee explained, sweating from the pressure he felt from Gibbs's stare. "We think he's an employee."

"I don't think an employee of a local pub would get access to any of the ingredients needed for Sarin," the ex-marine stated as he sat behind his own desk, picking up the handset from he switchook.

"Well, Abby said that one of the ingredients is commonly found in Roundup and other herbicides," the geek attempted to assuage some of his boss's adrenaline-driven anger. "And another is found in rubbing alcohol, which isn't hard to find either."

"But the last part is the Schedule 1 component," Gibbs remembered from that morning.

"So our suspect is in the armed forces?"

"He'd have to be pretty high-ranked too."

"Or a medical officer, like a doctor."

"Tony, get all the—" Gibbs began before noticing that Tony was not at his desk. "Where the hell is DiNozzo?"

"You sent him down to Ducky," Ziva stated as she dialed a number into her phone, before turning from the group to speak to someone on the line. "This is Officer Ziva David with NCIS, I need to speak to a Commander White."

"McGee, do you have any faces on the employees?" Gibbs demanded as the geek worked even harder.

"No boss, but as soon as I do I will let you know," McGee admitted, wishing he did have a face to give the older man.

"Work faster, we don't know how much of a lead this guy has on us," the ex-marine explained as he strode towards the elevator.

The elevator ride to autopsy was short, almost too short to Gibbs as he wanted to get a handle on his adrenaline before talking to Ducky; the coroner always had a way of immediately noticing when something was going on and treating it with the utmost patience, which now would just make Gibbs even more angry. On the way out of the elevator he nearly ran into DiNozzo, who hurried from autopsy and at the sight of Gibbs covered his nose in an oddly instinctual action.

"Boss," Tony took a breath of relief. "I thought you were McGee for a second."

"Does McGee do this?" Gibbs asked, reaching around behind DiNozzo to smack him on the back of the head. "Get back upstairs."

"Right away, boss."

The Italian stepped onto the elevator as the ex-marine stepped off. Noticing Ducky looking worried, Gibbs glanced back at DiNozzo, who answered his cell phone with a curt, "DiNozzo." Before Gibbs could even take a step towards autopsy, Tony grabbed his arm and held his cell phone to him.

"Boss you really should hear this."

As soon as the cell phone was pressed to his ear, the ex-marine heard Jenny's voice, "Jethro it's already started. We're too late."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes:** See chapter one.

**Act Seven:**

Gibbs's breath caught in his throat and he could barely mutter, "What?"

Suddenly, it was like 9/11 all over again and he felt helpless beyond belief. People were going to die and he did not even have a name or where to look for this guy. He felt his throat dry as he listened to Jenny describe how seven or eight people had already died around Anacostia, no sailors yet but innocent people nonetheless. It was almost overwhelming to hear and as he glanced back to the elevator at the stark white face of his senior field agent, Gibbs could only manage to mouth a silent "go" before continuing into autopsy.

"Ducky, I need to know the symptoms of Sarin poisoning, now," the ex-marine demanded, his patience already worn to its limits.

"But I just told Anthony," Ducky stated, not in a contesting manner but Gibbs read it as such.

"Are you questioning me?" he asked, resulting in an astonished look on Ducky's face.

"Why no, Jethro," the mortician's anger sparked. "Now sit down for a moment and get a hold of yourself. Really, now. I'd expect that sort of behavior maybe if the circumstances were more dire."

"People are already dying, Duck," Gibbs stated, before realizing that he was still on the phone with Jenny.

"Jethro, I have to get back to SecNav," her voice came through the receiver, startling him a little. "Update me on results as soon as you can."

Surprisingly, it was the fact that she was calm that seemed to help him the most. Her voice strong and confident in him and his team, an almost silent reassurance as if she knew how he felt. He could always say it was the partnership they had long ago, but for some reason he could not even explain it in that fashion. Smiling, Gibbs suddenly found himself glad that she was the Director. Jenny had always had a certain flair for keeping cool, especially as of late, but she knew her people and she knew how to keep _them_ calm as well.

"Will do, Jen," Gibbs replied curtly, wishing he could reassure her in the same way.

"Good luck Jethro."

Hanging up the phone and placing it in his pocket, he realized it was Tony's and made a mental note to return it to him before he left to go anywhere. When he looked to Ducky, the coroner scrutinizing him carefully as if trying to identify a fuse wire in a bomb. While the older man certainly knew how Gibbs tended to react in these sorts of situations, sometimes the unpredictable just managed to happen anyway.

"Jethro," Ducky began, handing Gibbs a piece of yellow pad paper. "All of the symptoms of Sarin poisoning, to the best of my knowledge.

"Thanks Duck," the ex-marine acknowledged the mortician, smiling despite the urgency of the situation before noticing the body laying out on the table still. "That our Superman?"

"Indeed it is," the coroner replied, his eyes drifting over to the dead body of one Clark Kent. "Poor boy. I have to say that I genuinely feel sorry for him. He reminds me of someone I once knew. Pleasant fellow, really."

"Duck?"

"Yes, Jethro?"

"Now isn't really the best time."

"Ah, perhaps later then."

Gibbs gave one last quirk of a smile before turning on his heel and heading into elevator, taking a deep breath and blowing it out, glancing heavenward for a couple moments before the car arrived at his floor. The office was a blur of activity, between people making phone calls to loved ones and trying to get affirmations of the news reports which were on every television in the room. He could hear a cacophony of various reporters making claims as to what the causes were. The panic seemed like it would cause more damage than any chemical weapon ever could. People were going to clog the roads wanting to get the hell out of Dodge, which was going to make getting anywhere fast incredibly difficult.

As he entered the bullpen he noticed the television behind Tony on, despite the senior field agent over at McGee's desk, the two working to decipher something. Ziva was on the phone still, speaking now in a foreign tongue that Gibbs did not quite recognize. The pandemonium was apparent as his team worked furiously to solve the last few pieces of the puzzle in time to save lives. He glanced up to the stairway, almost expecting to see the Director standing there. When she was not to be seen, the ex-marine almost scolded himself in thinking that she would be there to provide some last-minute support before the shit really hit the fan.

"Is that it?" Tony asked McGee impatiently, the adrenaline of the atmosphere now beginning to affect him as well.

"I'm pretty sure, it matches what Abby gave," the younger man insisted, glancing over to notice Gibbs now standing in the bullpen. "Boss we have our suspect."

"Petty Officer First Class Gerhard Schrader," Tony walked over to the plasma, which now bore the image of a thin-faced man who looked like he belonged in a jail than in the navy. "Graduate of Indiana University, B.S. in Biochemistry in 2000 and then got his masters in 2004. Enlisted in '05, working for the Anti-bioterrorism unit here in D.C. He also has a part-time job at the _Keel_ to help pay the bills. In the past few months he's bought many of Homeland Security's flagged products and, get this, works in research for nerve agents."

"You got his face on tape?" Gibbs asked, pointing to the almost gaunt face on the screen.

"Serving food to Clark Kent," McGee affirmed from where he sat at his desk.

"You got an address, McGee?"

"Right here, boss."

Gibbs was about to grab the piece of paper from his subordinate's hand when his cell phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out. As soon as the receiver hit his ear, he heard Jenny's voice.

"Jethro, get your team to Anacostia now," Jenny ordered, her voice strained by an unknown worry, the confidence he heard before beginning to wane.

"We just got an address for our suspect, PO1 Gerhard Schrader," Gibbs stated, glancing over at Tony, who watched him closely.

"Then send half of your team there, I need _you_ at Anacostia," the Director demanded before hanging up.

"Ziva, get off the phone, you're with me, we're heading to Anacostia," Gibbs ordered, moving to his desk to gather his badge and his weapon. "McGee, Tony, you have the suspect's current address."

Hurriedly, the Israeli ended her conversation as politely as she could manage before following suit and pulling her primary and backup from her drawers. Her badge was already on her belt as she holstered her sig and glanced over at Gibbs, waiting for him to make a move from his desk. The ex-marine looked to Tony and McGee, watching them with an odd feeling in his gut, as if it would be the last time he would ever see the two men. Tony picked up on the stare and glanced up from his own process of gathering his weapons and badge.

"We'll see you again, boss," DiNozzo assured, his own green eyes bright with fear.

And with that they left the bullpen and stepped into the elevator, unsure of what waited for them at their destinations.

.:NCIS:.

"Alright McGee, there it is. There's his house. Looks like he's got a front door and a back door. We can't let him get away so we're going to have to split up. I'll take the front door, you take the back."

McGee was glad that Tony was driving because his hands were almost shaking with adrenaline. It was incredible just how much panic had been instilled in just a short couple sentences. Splitting up was never a good idea and the geek knew this. It would not end up good for them. However, he recognized that they had no choice at this point. People in Anacostia, even perhaps Gibbs and Ziva, were dying of a violent nerve gas that took their systems by force. From how Ducky explained it over the phone, McGee took a gander that it only took a matter of about fifteen minutes to kill someone with Sarin.

"McGee, focus here," Tony tried to reassure the younger agent who gazed over at him, the fear apparent in his eyes. "McGee, get ready to get out of the car. As soon as I stop it, it's go time, you got that?"

"Got it Tony," McGee replied as the house neared and he felt his adrenaline spike again. "I've got the backdoor."

When the sedan came to a shrieking halt, McGee could not help but jump a little, despite knowing it was coming. He wrenched the door open and slid from the car, glad that his legs seemed to be working better than his hands. He felt time slow as he and Tony ran towards the house, shoes pounding against the grass as the approached. The house, to say the least, was old. The shingles dangled from the roof in places, the paint job peeled, and what looked like a garage seemed almost melted, which alarmed McGee the most.

Soon they split and the geek could not help but wish he had said something to Tony before doing so. It was odd how he felt, the sudden anxiety as he watched his partner kick the front door, not quite completely breaking the lock on the first attempted and backing up to kick it a second time. On the second shot, the whitewashed door smashed in towards the inside of the house and Tony disappeared inside, gun raised. When he reached the back door, he performed his own attempt at the kick.

Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. His foot and leg were beginning to ache with the fifth attempt and when he staggered back to give it another go, he heard a gun shot. His heart leapt into his throat as he backed up again to kick the door and it refused him entry. Cursing, McGee glanced up towards the front of the house before looking back at the door. Giving it one last kick, he attempted to budge it once more. However, when it refused to give, he hurried towards the front of the house, feeling his shoes slipping a little underneath his feet.

The front door was closed as the geek dashed around the corner of the house to see it. He approached the door with a caution only his gut could explain. His brain was screaming to go but his instinct told him to wait. Wanting to find a compromise between the two, he hurried to one of the nearby windows, looking in as discreetly as he could. Shutters covered the bulk of the window, but McGee found a small hole in the wood to look through. A tall, muscular man with a gas mask on carried a crowbar as he walked slowly towards the back of the house, most likely expecting McGee to be there. A lab table covered in various brown-glassed bottles lined it.

On the floor was Tony DiNozzo eyes closed and bleeding from the temple.

.:NCIS:.

"Jethro, we'd heard you'd be here. Thanks for coming. We really have our hands full here."

"Tobias, what exactly is going on here?"

The FBI agent frowned as he ran a hand over his head, frustration apparent in his eyes as he watched his men work to evacuate the naval base across the street from they stood. The suburb around them had already been cleared of people, especially now that almost twenty were dead. The body count seemed to be jumping by the minute and it had thrown the area into a state of near anarchy. The panic assaulted almost everyone in the area, even Ziva seemed a little anxious.

"It's a gas of some sort," Fornell explained as best he could as he called over a couple workers to put gas masks on and to bring a few for him, Gibbs, and Ziva. "Kills quickly and violently."

"Ducky gave me the symptoms," Gibbs handed the piece of pad paper to the FBI agent, who pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt.

"I'll radio these," he stated before motioning to those working to evacuate the naval base. "Any help you can give in evacuation or really, any help you can give period would be good."

Fornell pulled a couple radios out from a crate that another agent was carrying by and handed one to Gibbs and another to Ziva.

"Channel thirty-three for HQ South of here, channel thirty-four for emergency personnel and channel thirty-five to connect directly to me," the FBI agent explained quickly before voice came over on his own radio. "I've got you Anderson, what's up."

"Ziva, stay with me," Gibbs ordered as they moved towards the naval base, the overcast sky adding to the dismal atmosphere of the day. "We are not getting separated, you hear me?"

"Yes, Gibbs," the Israeli consented quickly, knowing that the man did not want to risk losing her in the mass hysteria that had overtaken the area.

Before they reached the doors, though, Gibbs heard his cell phone ring and he pulled it out, flipping the top open quickly.

"Gibbs," he answered in his usual fashion before McGee interrupted.

"Boss, it's bad," the geek's voice was filled with fear as he spoke. "He's got gallons upon gallons of this gas in his house and I can't get in, the door's locked—"

"Then break it down, McGee!"

"I can't, boss. He's got Tony and he's threatening to kill him."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Notes:** See chapter one.

**Act Eight:**

"No, no no no," Gibbs muttered, feeling the urge to curse. "McGee! Dammit!"

"Boss, he's yelling at me to step away from the window," the geek stammered back over the line. "Boss he's going to kill Tony."

"Then get away from the window, McGee!" he bellowed into the phone, feeling even more helpless before.

"Got it boss."

As the older man glanced towards Ziva, he recognized the paralyzing panic on her face for it churned in his gut as he listened to the labored breathing and occasional curses of his younger agent. Gibbs could not even believe how his luck could go from bad to worse in such a small time. An overwhelming need to just shout at someone overtook him as he focused in on a man walking in towards the base, his lack of garrison cap suddenly just too much for the ex-marine.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he growled at the sailor, who looked no more than twenty and flinched at the sound of the demand.

"To help in evacuation efforts s-sir," the sailor answered quickly, almost more of a question than a reply.

Before Gibbs could let loose his fury, he heard Ziva call his name from somewhere behind him and suddenly remembered handing off his cell phone to her, despite not recalling doing so. The Israeli watched a handful of emergency personnel struggling to sedate a woman screaming in terror as if hellhounds were on her heels. Her limbs flailed as wildly as they could, for they were tied down to the stretcher they carried her on. The screams echoed around the area, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear as she shrieked inconceivable words at the top of her lungs.

Holding his hand out for the cell phone, Gibbs approached Ziva again, turning his attentions from the horrified woman. The Israeli handed him the cell phone and he took a deep breath before continuing.

"McGee, you still there?" he asked into the phone, still able to hear the deep pants of the geek in the receiver, the raw terror and uncertainty apparent even without words.

"Boss we have to bring him in. We have to. He's got so much Sarin in there, it's unbelievable," McGee's attempt at calming himself failed miserably.

"Listen to me," Gibbs continued, trying to keep his voice as level and calm as possible. "McGee, are you listening?"

"I got you loud and clear boss."

Thanking his lucky stars and whatever higher power was listening for his team's complete faith in him, Gibbs glanced to Ziva who stood by his side, despite the desperate look on her face that spoke of a deep desire to at least do something than stand and wait. Her composure firm, she watched as military and civilian employees hurried from the building, nearly trampling each other in an attempt to escape the terror they expected.

"Gibbs," the Israeli began before the ex-marine reluctantly nodded.

As soon as she got the okay, Ziva was off like a bullet and was soon at the doors, attempting to usher the fallen from the stampede that was the mass of the employees. Gibbs winced as one woman accidentally kicked the kneeling Israeli in the face, but despite this setback, Ziva rose again to pull one man from where he was trapped against the doors, unable to move. However, McGee's worry-filled voice filled his ears again and he refocused on the call.

"Boss? Are you there?"

"Yeah McGee, this is what you're going to do."

.:NCIS:.

Tony grew aware that someone very near him was yelling very loudly. Opening his eyes a little, he found that a rather tall and muscular man stood over him a gun trained on his head and the Italian realized that the man was Schrader. His captor currently focused on bellowing commands to get them through the muffling gas mask he wore, his eyes watching the something that was very not-Tony. Taking a small relief in this fact, Tony opened his eyes a little wider and took in a wider scope of the small room he shared with Schrader.

Admitting that his vision was not the best, Tony still estimated that the room was a kitchen. A large fume hood perched over a stove-cum-lab table sat in one corner of the room. Labeled brown-glassed jars sat in clusters across the counter surrounding the fume hood as well as several apparatuses that the Italian would never recognize, even if he were not partially concussed. Various chunks of counter had been corroded away and looked almost as if they had melted. Chancing to open his eyes further, he noticed gallon drums in huge stacks, numbering nearly twenty drums, closer to him and Schrader.

"I said get away from the window!" Tony heard the petty officer shout as loudly as he could to overcome the gas mask, which blocked his mouth and shielded his eyes from the external environment.

Trying to figure out whom exactly Schrader spoke to, but considering his own sig pointed into his face, Tony was not so keen on moving to find out. He instead attempted to focus on a way to get out of this situation. While he had the element of surprise now, the Italian realized that the petty officer certainly bore the advantage of time. Already, Tony felt like a vice was placed on his chest and his breathing becoming less even, which he knew spelled trouble.

.:NCIS:.

Gibbs hung up on the emergency dispatcher, switching back to McGee's line as he tore down the suburban streets, grateful that Fornell had allowed him an emergency light to help speed the process up. Other cars on the road moved to the right to allow him to scream past them as he drove faster than ever. Houses turned into blurs as McGee updated him on the situation at the suspect's house. Almost ten minutes had already passed and Gibbs's gut roiled even worse than before, no longer a feeling of dread but knowing something terrible was about to happen.

"The LEOs just arrived boss with the SRU, they're scoping out the house, but they know he's watching them," the geek explained, sounding even more panicked than before; dealing with dangerous situations just was not his forte.

"Okay, McGee, you're going to have to clue them into what's going on here, again," Gibbs commanded, keeping one hand on the wheel as he steered past an impala. "You're in charge there, got that?"

"Yeah boss," McGee replied before he turned away from the phone, speaking to another party. "Boss? They need me."

"McGee, I will be there in five minutes," the older agent reaffirmed the younger, trying to read street signs as he passed them, praying for Pine Grove drive. "Tell Tony I'm coming."

"I'll try, boss."

The line went dead and Gibbs pushed the accelerator to the floor, the sedan speeding up even further.

.:NCIS:.

"Get me eyes in there ASAP!"

McGee turned back to the chief of the Strategic Response Unit, who seemed much more sure of himself than the geek thought he could ever feel. The man emitted confidence and knowledge in manner that he identified with Gibbs. Something about his stance and how he commanded the people around him demanded respect and authority. When the chief faced him again, he rubbed his shaved head and smiled a little before placing his hat back on his head.

"How you doin' McGee?" the man asked and McGee felt at odds talking about how he felt when Tony was still inside a potentially gassed building with a dangerous suspect.

"I'm fine, sir," the geek answered quickly before continuing. "I need to tell you what we're dealing with here."

"Call me Sarge," the man said calmly, taking a deep breath before his face grew serious. "But, continue."

"Sarin gas," McGee replied, wishing he could emulate Sarge in any sense; his nerves were on fire with adrenaline. "A nerve agent. His is homemade but he worked with the anti-terrorism unit at Anacostia and has a master's in biochemistry with extensive work in the field. He's a petty officer, first class, Gerhard Schrader."

"How long since your partner went in?" Sarge questioned, before his radio crackled with sound.

"Sarge, we have eyes in the house," a female voice relayed over the radio attached to the man's bulletproof vest.

"Thanks Jules," he replied before turning back to McGee.

"Ten minutes," the geek stated, his stomach churning as he felt time was being wasted. "Tony doesn't have much longer if he was exposed right away to the gas. Five minutes, give or take."

"We're going as fast as we can, McGee," Sarge explained as he glanced at the house again. "We have keep in mind the lives of everyone in this neighborhood too. " and, noticing McGee's face fall "My people are ready to break in through the back door anytime, but we don't want the Sarin getting out, which is the dilemma."

"I can help."

"No McGee, stay here. You've done just fine as it is."

A silence fell between the two as the geek fidgeted in place, wondering why he even called the LEOs. They seemed to be abiding their time and did not seem to get an idea as to just how dire the situation was. Tony was most certainly dying as they stood here and twiddled their thumbs, doing the equivalent of nothing. Groaning a little, McGee shifted his weight from one foot to another before he heard the squealing of tires and a very familiar sedan blazed down the street, coming to a halt just beyond the Suburbans of the SRU.

Gibbs nearly jumped from the car, his attention completely on McGee as he ran towards the geek, full-out sprinting. The ex-marine reached him and Sarge in no time at all and the older agent glowered at Sarge before looking back at the house. No progress seemed to have been made at all from their perspective and Gibbs could only hear the codes issued from person to person over Sarge's radio.

"Would someone care to explain why no one is rescuing my agent?" he growled, dangerous and low, capturing the gaze of the shorter, but equally impressive, Sarge.

"We have to contain the Sarin at the same time," the SRU chief explained again before they were all interrupted by a sudden and loud gunshot.

.:NCIS:.

Tony felt his chest continue to constrict as he lay on the floor, trying to formulate a plan. However, as he felt his time running even shorter and shorter, Schrader grew more and more agitated. Now checking every few minutes to make sure that no one was trying to look inside the house. At one point, the petty officer cursed colorfully about how the police had arrived and were now probably going to try and take him by force.

A twitch began in his arm and Tony knew it was the end. A convulsion wracked his body as he felt his stomach churn from the nausea into full-force vomiting. He felt a numbness overcome his legs, even as the jerked wildly out of his control. However, as his vision grew dark and the gun leveled at him again, the Italian took a certain pleasure in accidentally knocking over the Petty Officer before nothing at all.

.:NCIS:.

"He's starting to seize!" came Jules's voice over the radio, urgent and immediately demanding action to be taken.

"Go go go!" another man commanded and a racket broke out through the house.

Gibbs held his breath as he could barely restrain himself from charging full-force at the building. However, the seconds of silence were too much for him to take.

"What the hell is going on in there?" he growled at Sarge, "Tell me now or I'm going in there myself, gas mask or not."

"He's not breathing!" Jules announced over the radio, her voice even higher than before.

"Suspect is down! Repeat, suspect is down. Situation contained."

"Special Agent DiNozzo? Can you hear me?"

"Holy shit, there has to be at least thirty gallons of Sarin in here, Sarge."

"Special Agent DiNozzo? Sarge, he doesn't have a pulse! Bringing him outside!"

The front door opened and out spilled two heavily clothed individuals, each wearing the full plate SWAT armor as well as a gas mask and equipped with automatic weapons. One carried the upper torso of a limp body from the building and the second carried the feet. Once they left the doorway, it was closed behind them. However, Gibbs did not even see this as he dashed towards them and his agent, who looked, to all appearances, dead. His heart caught in his throat as he saw the eyes half-open in death, foam and vomit at the mouth of his senior field agent.

"Tony, no."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes**: See chapter one.

**Act Nine:**

McGee stared into the magazine sitting in his lap, trying to read it, but failing horridly. The words kept reading, "Tony DiNozzo is dead and it's your fault." A worst upholsterer could not have created the uncomfortable chair he sat in in the emergency room and McGee felt sure that the fates were conspiring against him and his team today. He could not even believe what had happened a few short hours ago: a chemical attack on a naval base, the mass hysteria, and most importantly, the death of his partner.

Of course, the paramedics tried as hard as they could to revive the downed special agent, and were even continuing to try now, despite the worsening odds that fought against them every minute that Tony remained dead. However, McGee felt a grudging resignation settle in his stomach as he sat with Abby next to him and Gibbs next to her. The Goth currently had her face buried in Gibbs's chest, sobbing uncontrollably as he attempted to comfort her, but looking stony-faced at the television the nurses had turned on earlier, as if ordering it to perform some sort of miracle to bring back Tony. The newscaster seemed to speak in another language that McGee could not quite comprehend; he vaguely heard a mention of the FBI before completely tuning out.

Out of the entire group sitting in the ER, Ziva looked the worst for wear. A good half of her face stood out in stark contrast from the other half, covered in bruising that looked like she had gone one-on-one against a brick wall and lost. Various other cuts and bruises filled almost every inch of exposed skin, which was considerable, especially since she still wore Abby's clothing, although the shirt now donned a dark red smear across the shoulder and flecks of blood across the chest. She stared at the empty reception desk as Ducky examined a particularly nasty cut on her temple.

Giving up on reading, McGee got to his feet to place the magazine back on the coffee table sitting behind their row of chairs. However, as he stood, a scrub-dressed man stepped out from behind the doors that stood between them and their teammate. Almost immediately, Gibbs got to his feet, surprising Abby, but keeping his arm around her and thus taking her with him.

"Special Agent Gibbs, I believe it would be better if you remained seated," the doctor said quietly, running a hand through his short auburn hair.

"Just tell us what's going on," the ex-marine demanded, trying to read information from the doctor's posture and his look.

"He suffered tremendous nerve damage, but," the doctor explained, looking through the chart. "He's alive."

Abby gave a cry and immediately turned to McGee to cry into him, for joy now. Gibbs let out a breath of relief and sat back down, smiling with the knowledge that DiNozzo would live to torture him another day. Ziva could not help herself either and spoke a short prayer of thanks in a language McGee did not recognize. However, the look on the doctor's face had Ducky nervous and the mortician voiced these fears aloud.

"What kind of nerve damage did young Anthony suffer?"

Gibbs looked up at the doctor, watching the young face work under the pressure of their gazes upon him. The entire group, except for Abby (who was busy crying into McGee's suit jacket), stared hard at the doctor, Gibbs's the most intense of all of them.

"It is very likely that Special Agent DiNozzo will be paralyzed for the rest of his life, potentially quadriplegic," the doctor stated, meeting Gibbs's intense gaze with a soft, regretful look. "And we may need to admit him for the lasting psychological aftereffects."

"Oh dear," Ducky stated what the entire group was thinking but no one else said.

A long pause settled into the room and the silence spoke volumes of what each felt. McGee was again awash with guilt as he felt the impact of what this meant for Tony's career. There was almost a guarantee that the Italian would never be able to continue to work at NCIS, much less in any other law enforcement and with the combination of psychological damage, DiNozzo could potentially never work again, period. When Abby pulled away from him to look at the doctor, he kept a hand interlaced with hers, more for his support than for her. It was a concrete connection that helped to reground him in the here and now.

Sighing, Ducky leaned forward to continue administering to Ziva as she looked to the floor again, realizing that her prayers were celebrated too far ahead. She knew that she always teased Tony about how Gibbs kept him in a job but now, she had her doubts that even the indestructible, unwavering Leroy Jethro Gibbs could keep a mentally and physically handicapped man in a job. She glanced up, however, when Gibbs rose to his feet again and strode towards the doctor.

"I want to talk to him," the ex-marine stated, his tone implying that there was no question as to whether or not this request would be fulfilled.

"He can't handle that right now, Special Agent Gibbs," the doctor explained, placing the clipboard he held between him and the intimidating agent he tried to reseat with words. "I doubt he would even recognize you. His mind has most likely been severely affected and with that his memory."

"I'm talking to him," Gibbs demanded again, giving the doctor a 'I will go through you if I have to' looks.

"If you think it'll do any good," the doctor consented after a short stare down.

"It will."

.:NCIS:.

Tony found himself somewhere unfamiliar, surrounded by tombstones. The grass beneath him had been long dead and only mud remained. The wind blew against his body, threatening to knock him over, even as he sat. A variety of dead trees creaked under the strain of the elements, arching towards him in a menacing fashion. The howl of a coyote echoed through the deserted cemetery, sending chills down the agent's back as he looked up at the marble headstones towering over him. He remembered being guided into the cemetery by a man who looked half-digested, complete with an eyeball hanging out across one cheek, but could not recall how he ended up in front of such impossibly tall tombstones. The writing etched into the marble looked eroded as if the marble stones aged slower than the epithets recorded.

The dark engraving stood out from the rest of the tombstone and he could easily pick out what they said from underneath the strange piles of material on top of them, which looked suspiciously of entrails. His heart leapt into his throat as he realized what the epithets said and his stomach churned nearly to the point of vomiting as he recognized whose entrails lined the top of the stones.

"Ziva David," Tony murmured quietly, barely able to speak. "Abby Scuito, Tim McGee, Donald Mallard, Jenny Shepard."

As his eyes fell upon the last tombstone, his stomach rebelled even further. Atop Gibbs's tombstone were not only entrails but also his boss's head. A hand touched his shoulder and he spun to face Kate Todd, who stared at him with half-lidded eyes, blood dripping down from a hole in your forehead. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Wake up, DiNozzo, don't make me smack you," she said, but not in her voice, instead a very masculine and commanding voice. "DINOZZO!"

.:NCIS:.

"Boss?"

"C'mon DiNozzo, time to wake up. That's it. You gotta get some breakfast in you."

Tony felt strange to say the least. He could not quite feel all the parts of his body, which terrified and enthralled him. By this point, he felt that he should have grown accustomed to this feeling, but could never quite get over it. Like a child at the dentist, who learns their lip is numbed by Novocain, the Italian felt the desire to poke one of his legs with something sharp. However, he felt sure that the demons would be happy to do such a task. His nightmares had not decreased in his time away from the hospital. Although, recovering in the guest room at Gibbs's house was much more comfortable than any hospital room at Bethesda, he still had yet to get more than two hours of sleep at once.

As he expected, though, Gibbs sat next to his bed as he stirred, his eyes opening slowly and took in the form of the stern-faced ex-marine who had some bright green Jell-O sitting on a plate on his usual tray. For the past few weeks, Gibbs and the team had requested different days of the week off to take care of the ailing NCIS agent. His mind was still unstable and Gibbs worried that if left to his own devices, Tony could end up seriously injuring himself even further. However, with the personal days used up faster than they expected, Gibbs called in some medical leave he still had yet to use, surprisingly even after his three-month hiatus in Mexico, and had gotten used to staying with Tony almost 24/7.

On most days, Gibbs would work on the boat while Tony watched or Tony slept on the couch in his living room while Gibbs caught up on paper work and the like from the office. The ex-marine was just glad that the younger man was finally beginning to return to his former joking self. The nightmares kept him from sleeping enough to speed up the recovery, but with all of the extra naps in between, Gibbs guessed that Tony got around ten hours of sleep per day, which certainly proved better than the complete lack of sleep that happened at the hospital.

"More Jell-O? Seriously?" the Italian complained a little, trying to shake off the terrors of his most recent nightmare and regain an appetite for food. "I have had enough Jell-O to fill a small supermarket."

"Then you won't mind having some more," the ex-marine replied, leaving the spoon on the tray as well.

"Maybe I could get up and get some real food from the kitchen," the younger man contested, eager to get out of bed and away from where he would fall asleep easily.

"You up to it, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, relaying his own worry about how Tony was handling the exhaustion that came with getting in and out of his wheelchair.

"I'm so beyond up for it, boss."

"You look tired."

"That's because you wanted me to tell you about Seattle last night."

"Don't blame me for never going there before."

"How have you never been to Seattle? You're how old again?"

Gibbs reached around to lightly smack the back of Tony's head and the Italian winced the same as he always had.

"How are the nightmares?" the ex-marine asked, not taking much time to allow Tony to change the subject.

"Along the same lines as before," DiNozzo muttered quietly, looking uncomfortable as he sat, recalling the gory details. "But can we not talk about this, boss. I want to eat some real food."

Rolling his eyes, Gibbs pulled back the tray and set it on the dresser a few paces away before moving to the other side of the room to retrieve Tony's wheelchair. The seat had once been an olive green but had since been signed by a good portion of the staff of NCIS, including the director herself, and now resembled a large conglomerate of ink, rather than anything particularly intelligible. However, on a pair of fingerless gloves Abby had bought him, Tony had noticed the tiny but still readable messages of encouragement his teammates had written.

Tony watched as the wheelchair moved towards him and looked a little nervous as he pushed back the covers of the bed. Swinging his legs around, the Italian faced the wheelchair. Gibbs had initially insisted that the transfer be made as easily as possible, but Tony being Tony, wanted to stand on his own two feet for a couple seconds if at all possible before collapsing into the chair he had slowly grown used to. Taking a deep breath, the younger agent hoisted himself to his feet and swore for a second he could stand on his own before the typical reaction occurred. He fell into the chair rather ungracefully, which resulted in Gibbs frowning at him.

"There _is_ an easier way to do this," the ex-marine said in a concerned but stern tone.

"But that would be too simple," DiNozzo grunted as he levered himself into a sitting position before grabbing a hold of the wheels. "You know me, boss, everything has to be done the hard way."

"If you hadn't done it the hard way then you could've gotten to your pizza earlier," Gibbs commented, his poker face not revealing even a hint of the smirk he felt. "But, suit yourself, DiNozzo."

The older man strode from the guest room, with Tony close behind, protesting, "You have pizza? And you didn't think to wake me any earlier?"

The Italian glanced at his watch before speeding up to follow directly behind his boss.

"You let me sleep until six in the evening? I thought I was supposed to be getting used to work times again!"

"I thought you could smell a pizza from a mile away."

"I can!"

As Gibbs and Tony left the room, a loud scream of happiness echoed as Abby ran forward from where she stood at the counter to hug him. McGee sat at the table, already eating a piece of pizza and Ziva walked in through Gibbs's front door with Ducky, shaking out her umbrella as she entered.

"The traffic was quite terrifying tonight," the Israeli said, pulling off her raincoat.

"It reminds me of a time when I was younger," the mortician began, also shedding his raincoat and patting Tony on the shoulder. "Well, perhaps I shall tell you later. After you've gotten your pizza, Anthony."

Gibbs held a plastic plate out to the Italian, who looked much more than happy; a smile stretched from ear to ear as he glanced round at his family gathered. The ex-marine then handed him what looked like a little kid's cup with a paper-wrapped straw and everything.

"Boss, I'm not two," Tony groaned, pulling the paper off his straw.

"Have the tremors stopped?" the older man asked, barely even a whisper.

When the younger man did not reply, Gibbs got his answer and continued, "Until it's safe, just use these."

A comfortable pause settled in between the two as the other members of the team talked about the day.

"Hey McGoo!" Tony called, a mischievous glimmer in his eye.

"What T—"

A straw paper ball hit McGee square in the temple.

**End.**

**Final Endnote:** Thanks for taking the time to read. It was a lot of fun to write. Again, if you want to see the art for it (by chatona on LJ):

community. / shorikurai/ 24222.html


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